The Butler Bell
by skytiger859
Summary: It's based on something call scp-662. I don't know how to explain it, so google it if you haven't heard of it. Also, let's have some reviews!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is a fanfic based on something called scp-662. I don't know exactly how to explain it, so if you haven't heard of it, google it.**

The alarms rang out in the sky like a huge mechanical bird. Lights flashed, and there was commotion as the barricade closed and the building was put on lockdown. The already-loud voice of The Director seemed twice as jarring to Dr. Mirth, the caretaker, on the loudspeaker as he shouted instructions to the whole building.

"SCP-662 has been stolen! Repeat, SCP-662 has been stolen! Lock down the entire facility! This is not a drill! If the perpetrator is found, fire on sight, repeat, fire on sight! This is not a drill!"

As if anyone would want any of this, thought Dr. Mirth, half of it is life-threatening. No one in their right mind would take anything here. Perhaps 662 was the safest thing here. Alarms blared from every fire-exit door. Whoever had done this had not acted alone. Guards, who had guns already, charged through the open fire-exit doors, shooting at the black shadows that had been running away, toward the woods. They pulled the bodies back into the building. Teenagers. Dr. Mirth shook his head. He had seen things like this too often to become disturbed by them now, although, when thinking about the incident later, his apathy would always haunt him. Right now, however, what haunted him even more was that 662 was not found on their bodies.

All around him, half of the people in the entire building were hunting down thrill-seeking teenagers, and the other half panicking and rushing out the doors. They, too, were shot down. Several hours passed, and when 662 had not been found, the staff had been interrogated, some had been terminated. All eyes were on Mirth, and not on the shadow slinking away in the darkness just outside.

Catherine Greaves held the cool, wooden box tightly to her chest, thinking how lucky she was. She realized running in a straight line had made Jerome an easy target, so she ran out a fire-exit door, and went to the side. Slinking around the side of the building and hiding in a bush just under an office window, rather than running into the woods, had been a better idea after all. Scared and almost deafened by the alarms, Catherine began to cry. Silently, she reminded herself, oh, so silently, she cried for Jerome, for Amelia, for Raymond, for Pamela, and for Susan. No point in crying for herself; she had made it out alive, and with 662, snatched clean from under their noses! The alarms stopped blaring, and she stopped crying instantly and began listening instead. Commotion. She couldn't make out many words, but there was a big commotion. She didn't dare look in through the window, but she moved ever so slightly closer to the wall.

"… All your fault, Jenkins; you… to be guarding it!"

"… lunch break!... Griffin… probably drunk again! … remember… -cp-500… cure a hangover!"

"Mirth… your project! Do something!"

She remembered Dr. Mirth from the article. 662 had trimmed his hair, albeit badly. Now or never, she thought. She crawled from her hiding place and both knees and one hand. The other held the box containing 662 tightly under her shirt. She crawled to the street and hid in another bush. When the coast was clear, she squatted down and waddled across. She didn't dare go into the woods. That's where they'd be looking. Clutching the box, she ducked through the bushes lining the forest, hearing hounds barking much deeper in the trees. Why, she thought, don't people ever look directly under their noses?

Take how they had gotten in, for example. They had volunteered for a test of one of the SCP's. They all had fake ID made by Vinnie, some guy Raymond had known, so they wouldn't know they were minors. Looking back, Catherine was glad she had met them on the internet; if her parents had known them; if they had even cared, that is; they would have asked her what happened to them and perhaps raise a fuss. Then, the foundation would find them and perhaps 'terminate' her. She shuddered. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late to chicken out now. Now that she had 662, life could either get harder or easier. Probably both. She looked over her shoulder. The woods were thinning out, but there was a river nearby. If they didn't hear her sloshing, maybe she could get the dogs off her scent. The alarms started going off again. In the distance, she could hear the walkie-talkies on the belts of the guards:

"Forget the damn bell! 682 got out again! Hurry up, we need backup!"

Footsteps ran in the other direction, and Catherine let out a relieved breath, but not too relieved. She had read about 682, and she certainly didn't want to be caught by it. There was a lockdown, but the fire exits might still be ajar. She cut through the river, hid behind the dumpster at a nearby McDonalds, and pulled the box out from her shirt. She opened it. There it was; all hers. The butler's silver hand bell. She squinted and looked inside.

"Forever mine, S.J.W." she read. She smiled, and shook the bell, as if to ring it, thankful it didn't have a ringer. In all other characteristics, it was a perfectly normal bell, but it had no ringer. Catherine heard the tiniest chime from around the corner of the McDonalds. He walked around the side.

"Good evening, Miss Greaves," he said, "What may I get you?"

Catherine's breathing was hard and loud. She gasped, and tried to talk to the butler.

"Your- name?" she panted.

"You may call me Mr. Deeds. Rather fits me, does it not?"

"I suppose so. Mr. Deeds, I need a bicycle and a bottle of water, please."

"Yes, Ma'am."

He turned around, walked back to where he came from, and in less than ten seconds, was back with both.

"Thank you, Deeds," Catherine panted, chugging the water. It was the best she'd ever tasted. She hopped on the bicycle and pedaled away. Looking back, she saw Mr. Deeds had disappeared. Where to go, she wondered. Not home. Her parents thought she was on a weekend-long trip, and it was only Saturday night. They wouldn't expect her until Sunday evening at least. There was no money for a hotel, and by now they were looking for the missing volunteer. The name on the false ID said "Caitlin Wolfe," but they'd still have her description. Anyone within a 10-mile radius might have it. A bridge was coming up on her right. It would have to do. She brought the bike to a stop and went to examine the underside of the bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

The bridge was an old, crumbling thing, but was strong enough for cars to pass over. A shallow, rippling brook flowed past, but it was at least ten feet from the point where the bridge met the ground. At the very edge of the underside, where it met the hill, had a low ceiling, as Catherine thought, but there was a five-foot-long grate inside a hole in the bridge, presumably for drainage. It was dry, so one could safely say no drainage had come through it for years. Catherine thought for a moment. If she curled up inside the grate-hole, she could sleep there without being noticed. She took out the bell and shook it. Deeds appeared from the other side of the bridge.

"What is it that you'd like, Miss Greaves?" he asked politely.

"I would like a blanket, pillow and quilt, please," she answered, "and a change of clothes. These are filthy." Her stomach growled. "And a burger."

"Certainly. Any preference for your burger?"

"Uh… Bacon cheeseburger. With ketchup, onions, lettuce and mayo… and fries on the side… and a cola."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said with a smile. He walked out from under the bridge and turned, as though walking out to the road. Not ten seconds later, he appeared with everything she had asked for.

"Thank you," Catherine gasped. She laid the quilt on the ground, put the pillow at the top, and put the blanket over the quilt. She waved Deeds away, dressed, and then sat down to eat. It was delicious. Cooked just the way she liked it, with not too much and not too little of anything. The entire meal, even the cola, was gone in less than twenty minutes. When she finished eating, she called Deeds back to take the dishes and the tray. She handed them to him, then crawled to the drainage grate, and slept between the blanket and the quilt. The blanket was warm, the quilt comfortable, and the pillow soft. Worried as she was, the meal was so excellent and the bedding so comfy, she fell asleep almost instantly. When Deeds was sure she was asleep, he pulled the blanket over her more snugly, took the dishes away, and sat down outside the grate-hole to watch out for her while she slept.

Catherine awoke with a pain in her back. Not from the bedding, she knew that. She looked around, realizing she normally slept stretched out, and she had to be curled up. She crawled out from the grate-hole, and saw Deeds.

"Deeds?" she asked, "Did you sit there all night?"

"Yes, Miss," he said, "I saw that you were worried, and the underside of a bridge is no place for a young lady to sleep, so I stayed to watch over you."

"Did anything happen?"

"No, Miss. Thankfully, the night was uneventful. But you must be sore from sleeping under there. Here, a salve for your back."

He handed her a bottle. She opened it, realizing it smelled like what her mom sometimes used for muscle cramps. She rubbed it on her back, sighing with the instant relief.

"Thank you, Deeds," she breathed.

"Quite welcome, Miss," he said, as grateful for the thanks as she was for the salve.

"You don't have to call me Miss," she said, "You can call me Catherine. Or Cat, if you like."

He smiled. "Okay, Catherine."

She pulled the pillow, blanket and quilt together, and began to tie them together to travel with. Deeds interrupted.

"That won't be necessary, Catherine," said Deeds, "I will hold onto them for you."

"Okay," Catherine answered. She took her belt and strapped the bell's box to the front of the bicycle. She nodded at Deeds, then pedaled off. She would have to ride all day to get home. Her parents didn't live far away, but they lived in such a small house that no one would bother to look there. She sighed. Her family lived quite literally in a garden shed. Large as far as sheds go, but too small for a home. With three cots, minimal electricity and hardly any food, Catherine almost always felt crowded. Her parents were homeless and jobless, both because of cocaine addiction, and they made an agreement with their dealer that they would deal for him and be his scapegoat in return for a place to stay and some coke of their own. Catherine saw what it had done to her parents, and certainly didn't want it to happen to her. She went to school and had a part-time job, but it wasn't enough to pay for food, especially when business was slow and her parents were coming down off a high and eating everything. She probably would have starved were it not for her best friend, Rob. He had grown up in a good part of town, and she had met him in first grade, when it was snack time, and she had nothing to eat. Rob had stood up, walked to her desk, and offered to share. Too young to understand the concept of polite refusal, Catherine had gladly accepted. Since then, they helped each other with everything. Rob had given her his old laptop when his parents bought him a new one so that they could email each other when he had to go somewhere far away. He had done the same thing with his old cell phone. Living close to a fast-food restaurant, Catherine got free Wi-Fi as well.

Catherine continued to ride, taking care to watch behind her should someone be following. After too long, she realized how silly it was. If they want to kill me, she thought, all they have to do is shoot.

So, in a fog, she just kept pedaling, thinking of how she met Raymond, Susan, Amelia, Pamela and Jerome. A website that featured the SCP series. Her friend had shown it to her, although she didn't think the foundation actually existed. All the same, the SCP's fascinated her. She would stay up late at night to read them, but 662 was her favorite. A butler who was called from somewhere by a tiny silver bell. They asked him for things, some of which he could produce, others he could not. Some things he could do, some he could not. When he had performed his duty, he rounded a corner and disappeared, but no one had ever seen him disappear. Or re-appear, for that matter. She read the log, sickened at what they had done to him. It was bad enough he was bound to a bell, possibly for eternity, bad enough he had to perform menial chores and cater to people, but did they really have to taunt him? Did they really have to_ kill_ him? Catherine shuddered, shaking the handlebars and making the bike sway a little.

Yes, they had killed him. They had eviscerated him, and torn out his organs. They pronounced him dead and examined the body. Finding nothing unusual, they simply turned out the lights and walked out of the room. Upon returning to the room, they found his body gone without a trace. No blood, not even a germ from his decaying body. Once again, they shook the bell, he rounded the corner and addressed the ringer, unharmed. There hadn't been a scratch on his body. Catherine found that despicable. He may have been different, but he was still a man. He was still living, breathing flesh and blood. In the forum, Catherine had found five others who had shared her opinion. They commented back and forth, then shared email addresses, and before any of them knew it, they had agreed to steal it. It seemed like so long ago, now that Catherine was the only one left. She pedaled almost all day, until finally, she got to Rob's house. His car was in the driveway, but his parent's car wasn't. They went to a movie every Sunday. She knocked on the door, and Rob promptly answered.

"Hey," he said, "Where've you been?"

"I told you before I left," she answered truthfully, "And I succeeded. Where do you think I got the bike?"

He shrugged, and motioned her in. She opened the box and showed him the bell. He gaped, and asked, "Does it work?"

She held it by the handle, shook it, and from the hall, she heard the sound of footsteps. Deeds walked through the door into the living room.

"Hello, Catherine," said Deeds, "What may I get you?"

Catherine smiled as Rob stared in awe, and said, "Deeds, could you get me a fresh change of clothes and underclothes, and some shampoo, conditioner and body wash? I need a shower."

"Certainly," said Deeds, walking out the door, closing it behind him.

"How did you-," started Rob, but Deeds had come back, with everything Catherine had asked for.

"I hope you find these to your liking, M- Catherine. I also brought you a towel and washcloth."

"Thank you, Deeds. This, by the way, is my friend, Rob."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Rob," said Deeds, "Very pleased indeed."

"Uh," stammered Rob, "Pleased to- meet you, t- too."

Deeds smiled compassionately, and walked out of the room.

"Wow," gasped Rob, "He really _does_ exist."

"Told you," laughed Catherine.

"What about Raymond? And Susan? And all the other people you were supposed to get the bell with?"

Catherine looked at her feet.

"Oh, no," Rob whispered, "What happened?"

"They were shot," she explained, "they ran out the doors toward the woods, and the guards shot them."

Rob grabbed her shoulders as though if he let go, she'd be shot or something, too. "How did you get out?" he demanded.

"When they ran in a straight line toward the woods, I ducked to the side and hid under a window."

"And they didn't see you?"

Catherine shrugged. "If they had, they'd have shot me."

Rob sighed. "I told you that you shouldn't have stolen it. Now they're probably looking for you, wanting their bell back. Who knows what the wrong person could want it for? If he can produce a hand grenade or kill someone for them, what's to stop him from doing it to someone else?"

"I am to stop him. I don't want anything like that. I want him to somehow be free of the bell, to somehow be able to move on to whatever, or where ever, he should be."

"And how are you to do that? He doesn't even remember where he goes to get this stuff, even though it only takes ten seconds or less to get it!"

"I don't know. Maybe we have to do something with the bell itself."

Rob's voice softened. "Didn't the article say the bell was susceptible to damage? Maybe if we destroyed it, he could move on."

"Or it might kill him. The problem is, I don't know any more than they do. I don't know any more, or any less, than Deeds does!"

Rob pondered this while Catherine took a shower. She got out, dried off, got dressed and rejoined Rob downstairs.

"I have to get home," she said, "Can you give me a ride?"

Rob nodded, and drove her there in silence. It was well after ten o' clock, but time was neither here nor there to her parents. They were either sleeping off a high, or out at a party. She walked into the shed, finding it empty. She pulled out the bell and shook it. Deeds walked in the shed. "Hello, again, Catherine," he said with a friendly smile, "What would you like?"

"I need some canned foods. Would you get ten cans of tuna fish, microwavable canned ravioli, some bread, peanut butter and a jar of jelly?"

"Yes, Miss Catherine. Are you sure you wouldn't like some preserves instead of jelly? They're much healthier, and with less sugar, they taste much better."

Catherine had had preserves only once, at Rob's house, and she could remember how good they tasted.

"Alright," she said, "bring grape, strawberry and raspberry preserves."

"Okay, Catherine. I'll be right back with that."

Sure enough, ten seconds later, Deeds came back in through the door with everything Catherine had asked for on a large tray. Catherine beamed. She grabbed everything she could hold and began putting it in the cupboards. When all was put away, she grabbed a microwave-safe can of ravioli and cooked it. The microwave was the only method of cooking in the shed, but she was thankful for it, as it, too, had been from Rob. She ravenously ate the ravioli, and then, after it was gone, realized she had not invited Deeds to sit or eat with her. She rang the bell again, and Deeds, of course, came back.

"Yes, Catherine?" polite as ever.

"Will you bring those delicious burgers, fries and cola again? Bring two servings, we can eat and talk together."

"Very well. Is there anywhere to sit?"

"We can sit on the cots," Catherine said, somewhat ashamed.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

He was hardly out the door for any time at all before he appeared again. The smell of hamburgers broiled to perfection was making Catherine salivate, almost to the point of drooling. Deeds pulled up a cot and set the tray down on a stool.

"I hope they're to your liking, Catherine," he said, almost sheepishly.

Catherine smiled. "If they're anything like what you got me before, I'm sure they'll be excellent."

Deeds smiled. As they ate, Catherine looked at Deeds. He was an old man, pale and ashen, with white hair, bright blue eyes and countless wrinkles. He seemed so out of place in her garden shed of a home, sitting on a cot to eat burgers and fries. Catherine could better picture him in an expensive mansion holding a tray high over his head, serving caviar and expensive champagne to a wealthy man and his wife. Surely, this old man in a butler's uniform didn't belong here.

"Deeds," Catherine spoke up.

Deeds looked up, wiped a little ketchup off the corner of his mouth and gulped down his bite of burger.

"Yes, Catherine?"

She hesitated. "I've read about you. The article said you couldn't remember your name, only that horse and buggy had been the transportation of the day, and bicycles were just coming out. What else can you remember?"

Deeds fidgeted on the cot. "I can remember many things," he said, barely over a whisper.

Catherine leaned in. "Like what things?"

"Everything. Where I come from, who I am, what they did to me. I can remember it all."

"Why didn't you tell them?" They were whispering now.

"They'd hurt me. They'd cut me up, see what I was made of, see what made me work, perhaps try to market me."

"Can you tell me? I promise, I won't hurt you. The only reason I stole the bell is because I read about what they did to you. Can you tell me?"

Deeds straightened and sipped his cola. "They cut me. Eviscerated me, spilled my blood and entrails. Asked me for potentially destructive things. They treated me like property, like a machine."

"What can you remember?" Catherine repeated.

"My home. The air smelled nice, even with the horse droppings on the road. My mother grew flowers and spices, my father grew hay and pumpkins. Through the winter, we made money by selling the herbs my mother grew to people with frostbite or people who'd caught cold. In the summer, we'd sell hay to the travelers who came past on the road, for their horses. As I grew older, the economy got worse. We lost our farm and had to work in shops or on other's farms. I was hired out as a servant. Or, as you would call, a butler. My work wasn't dangerous, but it didn't pay very well. One of the aristocrats I worked for asked me if I liked being a servant, thus leading to what I am now."

Catherine had been so absorbed in the story, she had forgotten the burger in her hand. It was cold now, but she took a bite anyway. Chewing, she asked, "What happened then?"

"Naturally, I said yes. I wanted to impress him, and I thought I could impress him if I enjoyed my work and did it well."

Catherine nodded, took the last bite of burger, and began working on the fries. Deeds took another sip of cola and continued.

"He used to call me to service with that same bell," he said, motioning to the bell, which was on the floor.

"And he would tell me to do things. Before too long, he told me to move in. He gave me my own room in the house, but it was the old attic room. Imagine, in such a grand house with so many rooms, to be given the hot, stuffy attic. Nearly every night or day, he would ring the bell and make me get or do things. Sometimes, these things would hurt me. I would be kicked or bitten when I was taking care of the horses, I would be burned when cooking or ironing, and I wasn't allowed any medicine."

Catherine was horrified. "Why didn't you quit?" she asked.

"I had to provide for my family. By this time, my mother was sick and my father was an old man with brittle bones. He had broken his back several times. I couldn't just laze around and not help."

"So how did you become attached to the bell?"

"A war was coming on. I wanted to escape my cruel master and do my part for my country, so I enlisted. My master was against the war, but as a parting gift, he gave me that silver bell next to you. It didn't have a ringer, but I didn't mind that. I only found this out years later, but he had taken the ringer and melted it."

"How did you find out? And why did he melt it?"

"I'll tell you in a moment how I know, but this man had been quartering what you might call a gypsy. She had put a curse on the bell so that whenever someone shook it, no matter where I was, I would hear and promptly be of service. But he had given me the bell, so I should have been free. But he melted down the ringer and turned it into a musket ball. As I walked away from the house, he climbed the steps to the balcony and shot me with it."

"But… but… why?" stammered Catherine.

"He was against the war. He supported the Confederates, you see, and I was going to fight for the Union. And after he shot me, I remember how I clutched at the bell. Halfway between life and death, I held tightly to it. But I was growing evermore tired by the second. He stood over me, softly speaking to me as I died. And when I was only air, hovering over my body, he took the bell back."

"So why are you still bound to the bell if you're dead?"

"The gypsy made it clear, no matter where I was, I would answer. But that wasn't enough. If I was dead, it wouldn't matter where I was, I couldn't come. So he sent me to the halfterlife with a piece of the bell, so that I would be bound to it, body and soul, forever. I can no longer escape through death, because I am already dead."

"What the hell is the halfterlife?"

Deeds gave a chuckle. "It's almost self-explanatory. It's halfway to the afterlife. It's where most solid ghosts spend their time when they aren't haunting."

"Solid ghosts?"

"You may have heard of something like them on television. They're usually bound to something, or bound _by_ something. If they haunt a house, they stay until the house is destroyed- usually. If they're bound _by_ something, such as sadness, or fear, they will stay until they are satisfied. They're the ones you people usually catch on camera."

"Which category do you fall into?"

"Both. That's why I'm in the halfterlife. I am bound to the bell, and by the shaker."

"So if I stopped shaking the bell, you'd be free?"

"No," Deeds sighed, "the bell would still exist in the world."

"Well, what if I destroyed it?"

"I'm bound to it. I'd be destroyed, as well."

Catherine's eyelids were getting heavy. Deeds left, and returned again with the blanket, quilt and pillow. He arranged the pillow, and when she lay down, he neatly threw the blanket and quilt over her.

"Deeds," she mumbled.

"Yes, Catherine?" he said, softly, as if she were a tired baby.

"What if you were destroyed? Wouldn't that be an escape?"

Catherine couldn't see it, but Deed's eyes began to moisten. "Hardly an escape," he whispered, "I'd never see my family again."

Catherine could hear his voice start to shake, but she had one more question.

"You said you were going to fight a war. They wouldn't have asked the elderly to do that. How old were you when you died?"

Deeds took a shaky breath. "I was nineteen. I was prime fighting material, and they would have drafted me, except I had wanted to enter. I've been aging since then. It's part of being in the halfterlife; you can't die, but you can get old."

Catherine carefully considered this as she fell asleep. Deeds was about to leave, but instead he walked to her cot, tucked her in, and kissed her forehead. He almost felt like a grandfather, and Catherine's smile told him she felt like a grandchild. It made him smile, too, as he walked out.

Catherine woke up early the next morning. Her parents weren't home, but the other cots had been turned upside-down and there were cans everywhere. They had been home, however briefly, but what puzzled her was Deeds, who was on his rear, sound asleep in the corner. There was little light outside, but Catherine was sure his hair was a little darker, and his skin a little more pink.

"Deeds?" she said.

He started awake, brandishing a candle-holder. It wasn't hers, or her parents. Deeds must have gotten it himself.

"Stay away- oh," he checked himself, "It's you, Catherine. My, what a nice rest that was. I haven't slept this well in several decades. Shoot, I haven't slept at all in several decades!"

Catherine smiled. "You sure are peppy this morning. What're you doing with that candle-holder?"

He glanced at it, as though he hadn't noticed it in his hand.

"This? Well, you'd never believe it; two people came crashing in last night, around midnight or so, loud and careless. They'd have woken you, and they didn't seem like nice people. So I snuck back to the halfterlife and got this," he held up the candle-holder, "I chased them off with it!" he declared proudly.

"Uh…" Catherine started.

"Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? Was there something you wanted, Catherine?" he asked.

"Those people… who came in… were they a man and a woman?"

"Why, yes."

"The man had silver hair and the woman was a balding dark blond?"

Deeds looked shocked. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I think you chased out my parents."

Deeds was shocked. "Dear God! If I'd known, I wouldn't have done that, I swear! I'm so sorry, Catherine I didn't mean to!"

"Hey, hey, chill. It's okay. They're on Crack Street, you can't hurt them."

"What?"

Catherine laughed. "They've wasted their money on drugs to snort and smoke. They probably won't even remember you, and even if they do, who're they going to tell? Everyone will assume they were hallucinating."

Deeds nodded. Catherine requested a change of clothes, which Deeds produced and left her alone to dress. As she dressed, the sun came up, along with new questions. Did Deeds really look a bit healthier, or was it just her imagination? Would her parents remember and tell the police? If they did, would the police believe them? How was she supposed to help Deeds out of his mess, and not get caught by the Foundation? Catherine looked around for a place to hide the bell, and finally decided on tying the box to the beams of the ceiling of the shed. She dropped down and looked up. It was perfect. If you weren't in the exact position, the box would be invisible. Now that that was taken care of, Catherine headed to school.

Back at the Foundation, Mirth was more nervous than ever. 662 had never been specially contained, due to its 'safe' category. Nothing had been heard or seen on the news, which could either be a good or bad thing. They had finally contained 682 again, after it had killed several people. Witnesses were terminated. Mirth shuddered. Six teenagers had come that day to volunteer and he had seen most of them get shot. There was still one more, a blonde by the name of Caitlin Wolfe, although he doubted that was her real name. Mirth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, developing a headache. He didn't know. Not whether it was her real full name, her real first name and an alias for the last, an alias for the first and the real name for the last, or any other of the endless possibilities. A total of ninety-three people had been terminated that day, one of them Kevin, the one who brought the bell to the Foundation from the old pawnshop. Mirth had an uneasy feeling, as though he had missed something; something big. There had been a thorough search of the surrounding areas. Unless, of course, Miss Caitlin didn't cut through the woods. It was reasonable to assume this Caitlin Wolfe was very clever, even for a teenager. They all had IDs, but getting hold of a fake one is a simple matter with the right connections. Mirth stared idly out the window, his mind full of questions. How had she gotten hold of a fake ID? How did they not notice it was a fake ID? How did she get out of the building without being shot down? Mirth stood up and walked to the window, staring at the groundskeepers outside. A line of hedges sat under his window. Mirth looked out at them, suspicious.

Mirth opened the window and peeked his head out. A few leaves had fallen off, there was nothing unusual there, but something fluttered from the branch of one bush. Mirth opened the window wider and squeezed through it. He looked under his feet. There were troughs in the semi-moist earth, ending in treads exactly like that of a shoe. He turned his head, noticing another trough, running alongside the building. Mirth smiled, but not all of his questions had been answered quite yet. He followed the trough, careful not to cover it, and stopped at the bush. A piece of black fabric hung off the branch, which had been broken, but had not fallen off. It wasn't denim. It looked to be polyester or a mix of polyester and cotton. He continued to follow the trough until he got to the fire exit where it stopped. Beaming, Mirth ran inside to tell the Director what he'd found.

"Well done, Mirth!" proclaimed the Director, "I'd promote you, but, _it was your fault the bell was stolen in the first place!"_

Mirth took the yelling in stride. Director was a dangerous character, but he was an open book, that is, if you knew how to read him. If he was yelling, you were safe, but if he got very quiet, you were better off dead. And if he smiled, staying alive would be a miracle for you.

"There are also tracks in the river bed," said Mirth when Director stopped yelling, "on both sides. It's safe to say she knew about the dogs, and there are mud tracks along the road. I think she went that way, but after about fifty paces, they stop. Unless a taxi came by, she might still be wandering around."

"All right," Director barked, "She's probably still out there; we don't have a cab company nearby, and no cell phone calls were made for one from here. I almost wish she had called a cab; it would've been easier to find her now. Bring some men, have them search the woods again. Climb trees, bring the dogs, and search everywhere. Look in dumpsters, public bathrooms, on roofs, in hotels, under bridges, in cars, under cars, basements, attics, and everything else you can think of! Leave no stone unturned! She could be anywhere!"

"Yes, sir!" said Mirth. He hurried out of Director's office, and suddenly felt a pain in his chest. He had worked for the Director for years and never liked him. This girl was only a teenager. A thief, but a teenager. It was their own fault for putting up the website, but how had she gotten hold of the location? Whatever the answers to all of these questions were, Mirth knew that eventually, he'd be sorry he'd asked. Mirth held his chin up, and went around the building collecting dogs and the men who he'd sometimes thought acted like dogs. He quickly explained what had happened and what he had planned to do. Many of them were still high from the night before, what with shooting the teens and all, and wanted the chance to gun down one more. Others were quietly ashamed of themselves for showing cowardice and running away or hiding, and wanted to redeem themselves. Either way, both parties were eager to receive the promotion that came with killing a thief.

There were seventeen bloodhounds, twenty German shepherds, and thirteen beagle-Rottweiler mix hounds. Mirth had them all sniff the rag from the bush, which he and all the men had agreed must have been from Miss Wolfe's blouse. The dogs all began barking, pulling on their restraints. The men ran to keep up with them, laughing like children in an Easter egg hunt. Mirth hung back, waiting for the tell-tale howl from a dog that said they'd found something. Finally, he walked after them. Most of them seemed to be heading toward the river. The dogs all stopped, and began howling at the top of their lungs. Some jumped in, howling louder. Mirth shook his head.

"Clever girl," he murmured under his breath.

He waded across the river and the men followed him, dragging the dogs along with them. Mirth stopped about eighty feet away from the river and had them sniff the rag again. Some ran back to the river; the bloodhounds, mostly, while others ran forward toward town. Mirth followed the town-ward heading ones.

They passed by a fast-food place, and ran on in a straight line for hours. After four hours of continuous running, Mirth's legs were sore and his stomach was growling. The dogs all ran to a bridge and began howling again. Mirth looked under the bridge. There was a black cotton-polyester blouse and blue jeans. They had been under the bridge for a while now, and there appeared to have been some water in the drainage gate. The dogs all stopped howling and started whimpering, and one broke his restraints and ran toward the drainage grate. Mirth shot it without hesitating. He kicked the body away and saw what it had been going for.

A piece of bacon.


	3. Chapter 3

Catherine burst through the shed door. Not surprisingly, her parents still weren't home. Hungry, she microwaved some ravioli. After eating, she was still hungry and remembered that she could have any delicacy she could imagine. She climbed up to the beams again. Leaving the box where it was and removing only the bell. She shook it, replaced it and dropped to the floor again. A man was walking in just as she hit the floor. It wasn't Deeds. Who was it?

"Hello," said Catherine, "who are you?"

"Why, Catherine, I'm shocked," he answered, "I thought you'd recognize me after all this time!"

It was Deeds! "But, Deeds," Catherine said, astounded, "you look so young!"

It was true. Before he had looked about seventy or older, with white hair and wrinkles, now he looked maybe thirty-five at the most. His hair was definitely darker, and although he had wrinkles, they were no more than a few bags under the eyes and one or two on his forehead. His skin had more color, he stood straighter and seemed a bit fatter.

"Was there something you needed, Catherine, or did you just want to look at my pretty face?" he asked with a grin.

Catherine chuckled. "Could you get a platter of various sushi? You can have some, too, if you like."

"Certainly," Deeds answered, "I'll be right back."

As always, Deeds returned in less than ten seconds. Catherine sat on her cot and pulled up the stool they had eaten the burgers on before.

The sushi was fantastic. The fish and rice seemed to melt in her mouth and the wasabi was very spicy, so it must have been rather expensive. That is, if you were to buy it. The food was so good that they didn't talk until it was gone.

"Deeds," Catherine said, swallowing her last mouthful.

"Yes, Catherine?"

"You look a lot younger than you did before. How did that happen?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Catherine hesitated. "You don't… look as old as you did before. You look… I don't know- thirty-ish."

"Really? Then do you what that means?"

Catherine shook her head.

"The bell's power is faltering! You know, the halfterlife _did_ seem kind of off today. Maybe my time here is almost up!" Deeds leapt for joy.

"I just have one question, Deeds."

"Yes?"

"What's you real name?"

"A secret."

"You can't tell me?"

"No, not yet."

Catherine nodded.

"Did you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good."

"Okay, then."

Deeds strolled out, or rather, almost skipped out, and Catherine went to visit Rob.

Mirth idly examined the bacon strip. So funny a clue, he thought, a piece of bacon. It had been tested in the lab, naturally, and tests showed that other than the mud it had been sitting in, it had been in contact with catsup, cheese and beef grease. That, and there was a crumb of bread on it. Apparently, they were dealing with a girl who favored bacon cheeseburgers. Smiling, he wondered if she liked fries, too.

Mirth tried considering other options, but none of them tied in with the testimony from those crackheads. Mirth knew as well as anybody that a druggie's testimony was about as legit as a politician's promise, but it was still a testimony. Mr. and Mrs. Greaves had run into an urban police station. It seemed that an old man in a tux chased them out of their own home with a candlestick. Gold, they said it was. Mirth didn't quite believe it was gold, but with Deeds, who knows? What Mirth wanted to know was: why did Deeds chase them out? Deeds was a servant. A ghostly servant tied supernaturally to a bell, but a servant nonetheless. He wasn't a violent sort. Unless, of course, Miss Wolfe, or, if he were to believe the crackheads, Miss _Greaves_ had ordered him to. They told him about their daughter. Said she was sleeping and this old man was an intruder, perhaps a rapist. Well, not perhaps, really. They seemed 100% certain he was a rapist. Mirth had made certain of sending an agent to every police station in the state, which turned out to be a good move. Now, all he had to do was find where these crackheads lived, and the bell was back in the foundation. He doubted they had an actual address. Usually, people that strung out on drugs didn't own houses or proper apartments. They must've been squatting somewhere. Under a bridge like their daughter, or in an old, unused train car. She was impossible to trace. No cell phone records under Greaves had been found. Something occurred to him. The forum. If there had been six teenagers to steal the bell that day, they had to have met somewhere, didn't they? Otherwise, there would have been a fuss. Parents demanding to know what happened to their kids. In the past few days, a total of seventeen children and teenagers had been reported missing. Those files should be easy enough to get hold of.

Rob and Catherine were watching TV when his parents walked in.

"Hello, Catherine," his mother, Alice Bennet said.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet," answered Catherine in the sweetest manner possible. They may or may not have known she was the daughter of two crackheads, but she certainly didn't want them to think of her as one. Her parent's reputation had a great effect on her own, which wasn't fair, but Catherine made the best of it anyway. She was an 'A' student, and her teachers had nothing bad to say about her. She worked hard, and her boss was fond of her, but she couldn't possibly work any more hours than she did now, but wherever she went, she made sure to leave a good impression.

Mr. Bennet smiled. Catherine liked him better than his wife. Not that Alice was rude, but simply because Mr. Bennet seemed more gentle and accepting. Like father, like son.

Mirth looked through the files. Ten of them were missing children under the age of twelve. These, he tossed aside. Seven of them were all between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. They included Raymond Johnson, Amelia Jacobs, Pamela Wells, Jerome Gorton, Susan Forge, and Milton Barnes. Each file had a head shot, and he checked them with the fake ID's. Milton Barnes was not among them, leaving the other five as casualties. Later, he would arrange an 'accident' for them to keep their parents at bay. Right now, he had to find a Caitlin Wolfe, or a Caitlin Greaves, or whatever the hell her name was. He had to admire her. She slipped right out from under his nose, or rather, from under his office window. She'd lost the dogs in the river, and left her scented clothes under a bridge. The dogs might still be able to find her, but by now the scent will have gone bad. He skimmed through the cell phone records again, finding nothing interesting. Frustrated, he threw the folder on the desk. Just before leaving, he glanced at the open page. Bennet, Barnes, Brighton, Bennet. Words, words, words. He shook his head and walked out of the office. He had five 'accidents' to arrange with the coroner.

After a few hours of television and pizza with Rob, Catherine went home. Once there, she noticed a light on. Looking in the window, she noticed her parents sound asleep on their cots. She went in, not afraid of making any noise. They'd probably been high for days, unable to sleep. Now, they might as well have been in the deepest of comas. Sometimes they'd sleep like this for a day or more, and then go out partying again after eating everything in the shed. This didn't bother Catherine anymore now that she had Deeds. Not only would her bring her anything she needed, he was also excellent company. Civilized, quiet, a good conversationalist. The very opposite of her parents. Although Catherine was certain they wouldn't wake up, she didn't want to risk ringing the bell and having her parents see Deeds again. God only knows what happened last time. She was about to lay down in her cot when she remembered something that the site about Deeds said. The bell had been found in somebody's grave. Maybe if he remembered whose, it would help figure out how to help him. But she couldn't call him now. Not with her parents in the room. Besides, she was tired. Right now, sleep was her only option, and she was glad enough to have it.

By the time Mirth and the coroner were finished with the little details of the 'accidents,' Raymond Johnson had been mugged for his wallet, Amelia Jacobs was hit by a drunk driver, Pamela Wells jumped off a bridge, Jerome Gorton fell down a flight of stairs, and Susan Forge was raped and murdered. Raymond's mugger was never caught, Amelia's driver was killed in the accident, and Susan's murderer is facing prison. Mirth was tired. He'd had to come up with something different for each one, just in case any of these parents somehow contacted each other. Oh, well. Too much trouble, and another 'accident' could be arranged. Now that this was over with, he had to find this Greaves/Wolfe girl. And he knew just how to do it.

Catherine woke up to the sound she knew well; the loud chewing and panting her parents made while eating anything they could find.

"Cathy, Dear," her mother said, her face covered in ravioli sauce, "Would you be a good girl and get us some more food?"

"Sure, Mom," Catherine lied. She was really going to school, but by the time she got back, her parents would be high and gone, so it wouldn't matter anyway. Besides, there was still Deeds. As much as she wanted to help him move on, he was still very helpful in getting food, which was almost always scarce in her house.

Catherine walked out the door. Her mother, Janice, turned to her father, Mike. "I need a buzz. Do we still have the stash?"

"We always have the stash, but we need more after this," Mike answered. He went to his cot and took hold of a small Ziploc bag full of cocaine.

"Here we go!" Mike said, as Janice handed him a straw. "As soon as we done here," she started to slur, "We go get more from dealie, 'kay?"

"Yup."

Mirth was nearly jumping with excitement. The future of this bell, the foundation, and several million lives were in his hands, and the hands of two crackheads. He couldn't let them live, though. He'd have to give them some extra-powerful stuff. He couldn't risk them babbling off to anyone and having someone else make the connection. If something so big as the bell got out, what could prevent word getting out? No, the crackheads would have to die. Naturally, so would their daughter. Ah, young Miss Greaves. As much as his apathy at dead teenagers haunted him, what haunted him even more was how he sometimes looked forward to killing whoever had disturbed their facility. No matter now. What mattered was getting the bell back, and making sure its thief was destroyed.

Janice and Mike had run out of coke. Now, they were buying from a new guy on the corner. A friendly guy. He asked about their families, which the regular guy didn't usually do, but they were glad enough to tell him about their wonderful little daughter. If they were in their right mind, they would have noticed his hair was a little too shiny. His smile a little too wide. His eyes a little too glittery. But they weren't, and nothing could prepare them for what happened, or for what Catherine saw when she walked in the door after school.

Catherine walked in to what could easily be the most horrifying moment of her life. Her parents, sprawled on the table, pale and stiff, with straws up their noses. Overdose. But something didn't seem right about it. It wasn't as if it was impossible… it was just… sudden. Catherine immediately felt unsettled. She grabbed the bell, stepped outside, and called Deeds. She knew what she had to do, and she had to do it quickly. Deeds stepped out, younger than ever. He looked to be in his early twenties, or maybe nineteen. Although almost all his wrinkles were gone, a few bags under his eyes remained, probably from lack of sleep.

"Deeds, where are you buried?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The site said the bell had been stolen from a grave. Were you buried with it?"

"No. My old master was. It was stolen from his grave."

"Where is your body? You're a ghost, aren't you? A solid ghost?"

"Yes, but my body is a good distance away from here."

"How far?"

"Fifty miles or so."

"Deeds, you can't produce a car, but can you produce money?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm going to call a cab. Which direction is it in?"

"I don't know."

"Is there any way to find out?"

"I'm not sure."

Catherine looked at the bell. Her mind elsewhere, she took a step, stumbled, and dropped the bell. It bounced once, landed on its side, then turned about 30 degrees. Suddenly, Catherine had an idea. She place the bell on its side, the handle facing her. Once again, the bell turned, pointing past her.

"Deeds, is it fifty miles in that direction?" she pointed in the same direction of the bell, toward some wooded trailer parks.

Deeds looked over. One or two of the few bags under his eyes disappeared. "Yes." He said.

Catherine nodded.

"I guess I don't need to call a cab, then."

They started off toward the woods.

Almost immediately, Catherine grew tired. The long day of work, school and coming home to dead parents had left her exhausted. Anyone else would have called the police, terrified for their parents, but not Catherine. She knew for a long time now that eventually they would OD and she'd be left alone. But the fact that it happened now, she knew it couldn't be right. She didn't know how, but something told her that it wasn't a coincidence that she stole the bell and then her parents died. She had to help Deeds, and fast.

They kept trudging, pausing every now and again to check the bell, making sure they were on the right track.

"Deeds," Catherine spoke up after almost half an hour of silence, "Why would anyone bury you out here?"

"For the same reason a murderer would bury a body in the basement, in cement; to cover it up."

"One more question."

"And that is?"

"The article said you told Doctor Mirth that you were of British descent. You told me you were American. How does that work out?"

"Simple. I lied to Mirth. I knew what he wanted, and what he was going to do. Why would I want to share my history with him?"

"Good point."

Night fell, and Catherine badly needed to sleep.

"Can you get a tent and some bedding, Deeds?"

"Certainly."

Catherine turned around, allowing Deeds to disappear into the halfterlife. Once again, he came back in less than ten seconds, with a tent, some sleeping bags and pillows, and even some dinner.

Catherine and Deeds ate first. Deeds had brought a large pizza. After it was gone, Catherine and Deeds set up the tent and went inside to sleep. Deeds fell asleep almost immediately. Catherine looked at him. His wrinkles had vanished altogether, including the small bags under the eyes that you get from lack of sleep. His skin was a light tan, and his hair was now completely black. He didn't look a day older than nineteen, and he was very attractive. Catherine's eyelids grew heavy. She fell asleep.

Mirth was furious. "How could you have lost it?" He demanded.

"We did a top-to-bottom search," said agent Jones, "We found the crackhead's little shed, and we found them dead in it. The poisoned cocaine worked. We searched the entire shed but we only found the box. Fingerprints are a match; Catherine Greaves."

"That stupid girl has caused too much trouble already! I want you to look everywhere! When you find that little snot, I want you to kill her immediately!"

"Yes, sir," Jones replied, and walked out.

Mirth opened his office window and lit a cigarette. He hadn't smoked for several months, and he thought he'd kicked the habit, but thanks to that stupid girl, he had yet another inconvenience to deal with. Mirth checked his thought. That girl wasn't stupid, not in the slightest. She was obviously cleverer than all of the idiots in this foundation put together. He wondered if she could devise a plan good enough to get out from under their noses again.

Catherine woke up in the middle of the night. She'd heard something. She knew it. She strained her ear, , there it was. Way in the distance, there was a sound of a dog barking. _Snap! _A branch, probably half a mile or so away, had been stepped on. Catherine shook Deeds. She had an idea, but she had to move quickly.

"Deeds, I need you to get me a tank top, jeans, and spray-can hair dye. Red. Now hurry! And you change into a tank top and jeans, too!"

Deeds did so, this time returning in less than a second, already changed. _Snap! _Another branch had broken, but closer this time. Deeds turned his back while Catherine changed. She stuffed her other clothes in her sleeping bag and sprayed her blonde hair. The dog's barking grew closer. They must've been two hundred yards away, getting ever closer, ever faster. Catherine knew how quickly she had to move. She reached out, grabbing deeds by the straps of the tank top.

"Cath—," he started, but Catherine shushed him.

"Call me…" she needed to think of a name, quickly and arbitrarily. "Alice. And I'll call you Ben. Alright?" she whispered.

"Okay," he whispered back, "But, Alice, what are you doing?"

"Just play along," Catherine whispered back. Ugh. She hated doing this. Her thoughts flitted back to Rob, making her blush. She emptied her mind of all thoughts, and focused. She grabbed Deeds/Ben by the collar, and forcefully kissed him. _Bear through it, bear through it…_ she commanded herself, still thinking of Rob.

Deeds was more than a little flustered. He'd heard the barking of the dogs, and the branches snapping, but he didn't remember how long it had been since he'd kissed a girl. Like any other boy, he'd had, but it had been so long ago, it was almost like it never happened. And something like this, well, he knew what it would have to look like, but this was something he'd never done.

Catherine picked up on his discomfort. _Give him a break,_ she thought, _he lived in the 1800's, for Pete's sake._ Even so, it would've helped if he looked more like an irresponsible teenager, rather than a terrified virgin. Still thinking of Rob, Catherine kicked up the heat, tearing off his tank top, reluctant to touch her own clothes. If she hadn't been so terrified, she would have noticed how good he looked with his shirt off. Something crossed her mind. Her scent! She thought quickly, breaking away from Deeds, she grabbed a few pieces of the sausage and pepperoni from the pizza, and tossed them as far as she could out of the tent's zipper door. Thankfully, the barking came from the opposite direction. If all went well, they'd think she'd gone past the tent. Deeds looked confused, but before he could say anything, Catherine tackled him.

Mirth was on a hot trail, and he knew it. There was a tent in the distance, and the dogs were headed straight for it.

Catherine was freaking out. _Will it be convincing? (Rob). At least Deeds isn't fat or old. They won't doubt two teenagers giving in to hormones in the woods. (Rob). Not good enough. (Rob)._It wasn't good enough. Hating herself for it, she ripped off her own tank top, only noting Deeds' expression for a second before kissing him again. _Snap!_ Dear God, they were getting closer.

Mirth could better see the tent now. There were two people inside, and one had just taken off its shirt. Unable to stop it, Mirth felt an arousing sensation. _Dammit, _he thought, _this is the last thing I need._

Catherine heard the dogs getting closer. They were right outside the tent, but she didn't dare open her eyes.

Mirth steeled himself. He didn't like having to do this, and the dogs were barking, wanting to go _past_ the tent. They were on an investigation, and this one couldn't have any witnesses, or any scents throwing the dogs off their trail. He took a deep breath, then grabbed the tent zipper and forced it open.

Catherine shrieked and jumped off Deeds, whose zipper had somehow come undone. Catherine didn't do it, but it would help in convincing them. "What the hell, man?" Deeds shouted.

Mirth, although flustered, shouted at them. "You stupid kids— there's a dangerous character out here! You get your asses back home, now!"

"I live tha' way," Catherine said, doing her best imitation of a hood rat, "'Cross da brook."

"Then cross the brook, but get out of these woods," Mirth answered.

"Whatever," Catherine said, "Let's go, Ben."

"Right," Deeds said, remembering his new name.

Mirth scowled at them as they hurriedly packed up their tent and clothes, and then made their way toward the brook. Catherine was doing her best to look more annoyed than scared. Deeds had simply made a blank expression. That might be good. A little embarrassed at being caught in the act, a little scared by the cops, a little angry they had to leave is what they'd think. Changing her expression might be dangerous, so Catherine tried to stay looking annoyed. She started grumbling, but Deeds said, "C'mon, Alice. Let's go back to your house."

Mirth watched them go. The dogs kept barking, interrupting his thoughts, but Mirth felt an odd pang of fury. Why did they have to interrupt his investigation? With every second that he'd wasted with those kids, that Catherine girl got a little farther away. God knew where she was going. He followed the dogs again. After about three minutes of running, the dogs came to a halt, their faces to the ground, licking and chewing.

"Son of a bitch!" Mirth yelled, "She did it _again!_"

Catherine tore for her life across the brook. After three minutes, she'd heard Mirth's screaming. She ran with Deeds for her life.

Mirth didn't need the dogs to track the girl this time. She only had about a three-minute lead. Furious, he sprinted toward the brook, ripping a pistol out of the inside of his jacket. He fired two shots for the girl, missing both because of how fast he was running.

Catherine ducked and weaved through the trees. _This is bad, this is bad, this is bad,_ her head kept telling her. She had to think of an idea. She had to get them out of this situation. Two loud shots made her hair stand up on end. _Dear God; he's going to kill me. I still haven't helped Deeds. He's going to kill me. I'm going to die and Deeds is going back to the foundation. I can't let that happen. Rob… _Catherine racked her brain, trying to think of something, anything, she could do to get Mirth off her trail. She knew it was Mirth. The fear in Deeds' eyes had been all too real when he burst into the tent. That, and his hair was uneven. It couldn't be anyone else. Catherine's mind was racing. _What should I do? He's going to kill me!_ Before she knew what happened, Deeds grabbed her by the arm and yanked it to the side.

Mirth had been gaining on them. _Oh, you think you're so clever hiding behind a tree? Well, we'll see about— Jesus Christ!_ He could have sworn- the boy had grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a tree. Now he was behind the tree, but where the hell were they? They weren't in any direction; he looked up the tree, to his left, right, behind him… they disappeared. Mirth clenched his teeth and his fists. His jaws were aching, but he couldn't have cared less. His entire body trembled with rage. In a deeper fury than he'd ever experienced in his life, he threw his head back and bellowed at the heavens. He raised his fists and slammed them into the tree. Pieces of bark flew off and the higher branches quivered. Mirth kept screaming his frustration until his voice was hoarse and angry tears splashed down his face. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum, and he hated himself for it, and the girl for it, too. But she could never be caught, not now. This was his fault. He should've shot her when she was in that tent; he little boyfriend, too, whoever he was. Now, she had disappeared into thin air and he had no clues at all as to where she went. There were no foot prints, no noises, not even so much as a broken stick. Mirth wasn't thinking straight. He took hold of his pistol again, looking at it with an odd look on his face. "Sir!" said a voice from behind a tree, along with some dog's barking.

Catherine wasn't sure what was happening. She felt a cool air all around her, unlike the humidity of the woods. Deeds was still holding her arm. She could still see Mirth, but just barely. He looked like a ghost; almost transparent. She was terrified to speak, but she managed a whisper to Deeds. "What's he doing?"

"We can see and hear him," Deeds said, in a strangely calm, normal voice, "but he can't see or hear us. Not here."

"Where is 'here'?"

"The halfterlife. Not much to see, is it?"

"I can only see Mirth."

"Oh, that's right; you're still alive."

"What do you see?"

"Just the building; it's where I get everything I need for the human world."

Catherine nodded, then looked back at Mirth, who was laughing at an agent who had just stepped out from around the tree. It looked as though she were watching it all from the inside of a goldfish bowl. Mirth was laughing like a madman, although Catherine could still see the tears of acerbity streaking down his face. Mirth raised his pistol at the agent, still laughing and crying, with his eyes wild and rabid. All the agents came running, Catherine counted twenty-two, and Mirth shot them all, including the dogs. His laughter subsided, as did his tears, and even with his feral eyes, his expression somehow turned blank as he raised the gun to his temple.

_All my fault, all my fault_ he thought as the cold metal touched the side of his head.

Catherine didn't want to watch, but she was stunned. Something about watching twenty two men die in front of her had made her numb, even as the trigger was pulled and Mirth collapsed in a disgusting puddle of blood and brain mass. One tear slipped down Catherine's cheek. She didn't know why, so she simply wiped it away. "Deeds," she said, "Are they all gone?"

"Yes. They've all died now. Let's go."

Catherine felt sick to her stomach. Determined to hang on to dinner, she clutched her middle and followed Deeds out of the halfterlife. She still had a job to do after all. Once outside, Catherine was sure they'd wandered off course, so she dropped the bell on the ground, planning to use it as her compass again. Deeds could read the surprise on her face when the handle of the bell lodged itself firmly in the ground. "This is the place," said Deeds.

"I guess so," said Catherine, "Can you get us a couple of shovels?"

Deeds nodded, went back to the halfterlife, and returned with the shovels. Wordlessly, they began to dig.

By the time they were three feet down, Catherine was sweaty and tired. Deeds, however, seemed to be going strong. "Deeds," Catherine said, "what will happen if I give you the bell? Your body the bell, I mean."

"I don't know, but it's worth a try. And now that Dr. Mirth is gone, we'll have more time to think about it if it doesn't work."

Catherine nodded again and didn't say any more. Suddenly, she hit something hard with her shovel. She cleared out the dirt with dome help from Deeds, then saw it was an iron door. "Why is it metal?" she asked, "isn't wood better?"

"Iron would guarantee the casket wouldn't float in the rain like wooden ones often did."

Catherine agreed with this. She'd heard stories about bodies being buried too shallowly and when the rain washed the dirt away and got under the coffin, it would float to the top. Eventually, they started putting caskets in concrete vaults, then sealing the vaults for this reason. Concrete wasn't around in Deeds' day, so an iron coffin was the best his master could do. Catherine and Deeds pried the casket open. The first thing Catherine noticed was the smell. She ran behind a tree, where she promptly lost her dinner. Spitting out the last of the residual acid, she returned to the grave. She pulled out the bell, and suddenly, Deeds seemed to glow. She looked at him and smiled. Not taking her eyes off him, she tossed the bell into the casket. A bright light came from out of the sky, and Deeds looked up at it, beaming. He turned to Catherine, smiled, kissed her cheek, then vanished. Then, so softly that Catherine thought it might be the wind, a whisper was heard. _Goodbye… _Still smiling, Catherine made her way to Rob's house.


End file.
